


oh baby, my baby

by starblessed



Series: everything you ever want, everything you ever need [4]
Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Babies, Drabble Collection, F/M, Family Fluff, Parenthood, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-03-12 14:38:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13549434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starblessed/pseuds/starblessed
Summary: Phillip and Anne dive into being parents headfirst. Sure, they’ve got the circus on their side, but for the most part they have to figure out how to adjust to their new family on their own. It’s a... series of trial and error.They can only hope they’re headed in the right direction.





	1. travelling light

**Author's Note:**

> I got a lot of parent!Carwheeler prompts so I’m doing a set of drabbles! Some of them will be fluffy, some of them will be serious, but they’ll all center around the new Carlyle fam and be set in my Baby Verse (though this can totally be read as a stand-alone fic!)
> 
> Just for reference, Anne and Phillip’s son is named William in this fic! (Later on in this verse they have a daughter named Cleo.)

You don’t really realize how _hard_ it is to get out of the house until you’re suddenly traveling for three.

Anne remembers the days when she could just... go places. No stress, no planning. No need to _worry._ She could just stwo outside, stroll down the the grocery store, take a walk in the park... the possibilities were endless.

Lord knows she wouldn’t trade her baby for anything in the world, but she misses the days when she could just _go._

Leaving the house now is such an undertaking that it’s almost more effort than it’s worth. It’s a complicated sync of teamwork and determination; a dance with its own rhythm, and a frantic choreography.

“Do you have the baby wipes?”

“Check.”

“The bibs?”

“Check?”

“The little elephant? If he wakes up without that elephant, he’s gonna wake the whole city with his screaming.”

“I’ve got it,” Phillip pants, brandishing the raggedy stuffed animal like a war prize. He shoves it in the back of the stroller, along with all the other things they may or may not end up needing for a simple trip to the grocery store. Their stroller is almost overflowing at this point. Anne isn’t sure when they acquired so much baby stuff, or how, but she’s amazed it can all fit into their apartment, let alone the tiny stroller compartment.

She crosses her arms, swiveling on her heel in the middle of the apartment. They’ve got everything. She _knows_ they’ve got everything; she’s made a list in her head, and checked off each item as they want. Still, and nagging little part of her brain is convinced that they forgotten something.

“I think we’re ready,” Phillip announces, voice successfully drowning out Anne’s obnoxious intuition. “Nothing else left.”

“Are you sure?”

He regards her furrowed brows with something approaching amusement, and a little bit of horror. “Anne, honey,” he says, “we can’t fit anything else.”

She regards the stroller with a skeptical look. “We may as well be taking the whole place with us, huh?”

“Yeah...” Phillip scratches the back of his neck. “Are you _sure_ we need this much —“

“Yes.” She severs his question at its head. They’ve been caught unprepared before. Anne is not letting it happen again.

Phillip is a wise man. He holds up his hands, letting the subject drop. “Okay,” he says. “Okay, okay, you’re right. Let’s go.”

“Yes,” Anne sighs again. No idea has ever sounded better. They’ve been getting ready to leave their apartment for so long that she’s forgotten what the outside looks like.

Phillip wheels the carriage out the front door, taking extra care not to bump or jar it. Anne follows after him, feet beelining towards the door as if they can’t wait to get going, with or without her. As soon as she crosses the threshold, she heaves a sigh of elation. _Finally._

The euphoria lasts for as long as it takes for the door to shut behind them. That’s when Anne realizes.

“Phillip,” she says very quietly.

Her husband stops in his tracks, recognizing that tone in her voice. Slowly, he swivels on his toes to face her. Dread makes the exhausted circles under his eyes all that more prominent.

 _“What_ did we forget?”

In a very quiet voice, Anne replies, “The baby.”

As if on cue, William’s wail rings out from inside of the apartment. He’s louder than a police siren, but Phillip has the same reaction. He turns white in a split second, lunging towards the door to fumble it back open. The key slips out of his frantic hands, and hits the ground with a clatter. Phillip lets out the sort of strangled noise that only a man who hasn’t gotten a full night’s sleep for a month can make.

Anne tilts her head back and sighs. It’s another normal day.

Oh, how she misses being able to just _go._


	2. whispering

When Anne is out with William in public, she sometimes feels stares on her back.

She’s able to ignore them, of course. She’s gotten used to people looking at her. When she’s winning over audiences of hundreds in her circus costume, it’s different. There, she’s got the upper hand. She’s in the air, while they’re gaping up at her from far below. She commands their attention, their awe, their adoration. In the air, she is not Anne Wheeler, but something more. She is not human; she is immortal, incomprehensible, unreal. She is not defined by the color of her skin.

Outside of the circus, it’s different. There, the stares she receives are not filled with admiration. They are scornful; rude at best, venomous at worst. This is the attention she’s grown up with her entire life, and a large part of her is used to it. She will never be accepted by gentille society, just because of the color of her skin.

Anne knows exactly what people think when they see her out with her son in public. _Where’s that nurse going with a little white baby?_

It’s not her fault, of course; and it’s not William’s, despite the light skin he inherited from his father. In New York, plenty of servants take care of their employers’ children, so it’s not unusual to see white children being cared for by black women. Anne, however, does not treat her son like a charge.

William is _her_ baby, and she wants the world to know it. She holds him; she cuddles him; she kisses him and sings songs, pulls faces to make him laugh. When he starts crying in the bakery, she’s by his side in an instant. Though she feels the breadboy’s sharp gaze on her, she forces herself to ignore it. No social prejudices will keep her from tending to her son when he needs her.

William is not old enough to see the stares, let alone understand them. A part of her wishes he could stay an infant forever. The world is so much simpler that way; such a beautiful place.

Sometimes she envies Phillip. When he takes their baby out, he doesn’t have to deal with anybody glaring at him. He doesn’t have to hear whispers of “wet nurse” or “baby maid” behind his back — or even worse things, the sort of vile things people say about a black woman who gets too close to a white man. Phillip doesn’t have to hear the words, or feel the burn of eyes upon his back. Phillip is free of all of it — and maybe William is safer outside with him.

She hates the very idea. She would move heaven and earth for her baby boy. The thought that he might not be safe in public with her… well, it makes her feel like a thousand knives are being jabbed into her chest. She wishes she could rail at the world; she wants to climb to the top of the highest statue in New York, hold her child up high, and shout to the world, _“This is my baby and I love him! This is my son! I am his mother!”_

She can’t do that. Delusions can be as dangerous as small-minded people.

Then there are the moments of balance — the times when everything fades from a fever pitch to reach a perfect harmony. Anne’s heart doesn’t pound while she walks down the street with her stroller. Her ears don’t ring with whispers. She doesn’t feel the stares upon her back.

Not as long as she’s got Phillip by her side.

When they’re out as a family, things are different. Maybe now they attract more stares than they otherwise would, but is is much harder to care. The sour parts of the world are suddenly sweet. She feels invincible; she could do anything, stand up to anyone. No hatred can touch her as long as she’s got her two boys by her side.

“You’re happy today,” Phillip comments, noting the way Anne practically skips along after the baby carriage. His own hand is lingering on one of the carriage handles, next to Anne’s, close enough for their fingers to brush. She is filled with elation; it bubbles like champagne in a glass.

“How could I not be?” she replies. “It’s a beautiful day. I’m thrilled we get to enjoy it.”

“I enjoy every day with you,” Phillip replies without missing a beat. Anne raises her brows at such a sappy remark. Phillip just grins, utterly shameless.

From his carriage, William let’s out a tiny gurgle. Anne peers over the sun brim at the same time Phillip does; they both get a clear sight of their baby blowing spit bubbles up at them. The wild bird that is Anne’s heart takes off and soars.

“With you,” she amends. “I’m happy to be sharing it with both of you.”

Phillip catches her eye and grins. In spite of herself, she realizes she’s beaming widely back.

The stares might burn her back whenever she is alone; but when their family is all together, Anne finds that no one else matters at all.


	3. the night life

Cleo is crying. Again.

A low groan drags itself from Anne’s throat. She turns onto her stomach, pulling the covers up over her head, and tries to burrow in as deeply as possible. She won’t be the one to do it; she can’t. She got Cleo a few hours ago, and an hour before that, and she was the one who put her to bed tonight…

(She thinks. At this point, she so exhausted that she can barely remember her own name, let alone is she’s actually gotten out of bed tonight, but she’s sure she did. She must have. There’s no way she’d be this tired if she’d actually gotten any sleep since she laid her head down.)

One of her legs shoots out, catching Phillip squarely in the thigh. “Honey,” she slurs. “’S your turn.”

Her husband’s moan is nothing short of agonized. When he slings his leg over hers, it’s not just effective in keeping her from kicking him; he also holds her down. “Nuh-uh. Not now.” An arm slings around Anne’s waist, pulling her closer. “’S just a dream.”

“It’s not.”

“It could be.”

“Phil.” She presses her lips to his shoulder and holds them there, mostly because she’s too tired to move. Her next words are murmured into his skin. “Please.”

“I _can’t,”_ he sighs. “I can’t move. My body… won’t do it.”

“Neither will mine.”

They both slump back into the mattress, defeated. Cleo’s wail continues to pierce the apartment.

It was easy with Will. It was so easy that they had no _clue_ how fortunate they had it. When Barnum would scoff and Charity playfully rolled her eyes, they didn’t understand what the other couple meant. They were blessed with a baby who slept through the night, so they didn’t _know._

Cleo… Cleo just doesn’t sleep. Anne’s certain of it.

“You go now,” she tries, “‘n I’ll do it the rest of the night. Rest of the _week_.”

“Annie,” Phillip whimpers. “I _can’t.”_

Of course he can’t. Phillip hasn’t slept through the night in a month. The problem is, neither has Anne.

They’ve both been steadily creeping towards their breaking points for the past week. Anne found Phillip passed out at his desk in the middle of the afternoon; Phillip had to wake her up during dinner, when she dozed off into her mashed potatoes. Juggling a three year old is rough enough, but a newborn on top of that…

Well, Anne’s amazed either of them are still standing.

Except they’re not. Neither of them are able to move, let alone stand, and Cleo is _still screaming._

“Please,” she mutters, not sure who she’s pleading with – Phillip or God. “Please just do this for me, and I’ll… do something. I don’t know. I’ll be good. I’ll throw out the curtains you hate. I’ll make your favorite dinner. I’ll make W.D. and Barnum stop teasing you, I swear, just _please_ …”

Maybe begging is a low blow, but it works. Phillip can’t stand to hear her like that. With one awful, deep-from-his-soul groan, he heaves himself over the side of the bed and to his feet.

Only to promptly fall back down again.

“Come on…”

“You’ve got this,” Anne urges. “You’ve got this, baby. Keep… keep trying. I believe in you.”

“My legs aren’t working,” he hisses, exhaustion giving his frustrated words a serrated sharpness. He slumps forward like a broken puppet, smacking at them. Anne is too exhausted to question Phillip’s logic.

“Just get to your feet. She needs you, come on…”

This is the same man who ran into an inferno for her, and who has the guts to kiss her in front of massive crowds, night after night. Anne genuinely doubts there’s anything Phillip wouldn’t do for the people he loves. She knows he’ll get Cleo, if he can just make it to his feet.

Phillip’s stopped now, though. He’s gone completely still – not standing up, not moving his legs, hardly even breathing. For one awful moment, Anne thinks he’s passed out sitting up.

Then he says, in a very quiet voice, “Do you hear that?”

Anne listens. “I don’t hear a thing.”

“Exactly.” The apartment is dead silent.

The couple exchanges glances, alarm dawning over the haze of their bemusement. In an instant, they both spring to their feet and go sprinting.

By the time they burst through the doorway of the nursery, they’re both panting (exhaustion drains a lot of your stamina, as Phillip’s one sad practice run at resuming his ringmaster’s duties proved). Terror clenches around Anne’s heart like a vice. She’s heard stories of babies just… forgetting how to breathe during the night. She’s seen mothers weep after they put their children to bed, only for them never to wake up again. The idea of anything happening to her Cleo, the brightest star in her sky, terrifies her beyond words.

She goes still in the doorway. Her jaw drops. Behind her, she hears Phillip’s tiny noise of shock.

Leaning over the edge of the crib is Will. He’s got one of Cleo’s favorite toys in his hands, and shakes it at her like she’s a dog with a bone. When he notices his parents in the doorway, he turns to them with a smile on his face.

“It’s okay!” he tells them proudly. “She’s quiet now!”

“Oh my god,” Phillip mutters, slumping against the doorframe. “It’s a miracle.”

“Will’s our miracle.” Anne moves forward, cupping her little boy’s cheeks in both her hands. They’ve had Will sleeping in the living room for the past few weeks – farthest away from Cleo’s wailing, and the best place for him to get some rest – but he’s heard his sister in the night, and seen how tired his parents are. When Will looks up at her, he’s all but glowing with pride.

“You can sleep, Mamma. She’s quiet. I made her quiet.”

Anne peers into the crib. Cleo is balancing the stuffed toy in her hands, wide eyes staring at it with utter interest. Her face is dry; she shows no signs of screaming anytime soon. She looks utterly content.

“Thank you, Baby Boy,” she whispers, and wraps Will up in a tight hug. She pulls away only when he grunts, and then they both dissolve into giggles. “You’re saving your Mamma and Daddy a lot of trouble, you know that?”

“I can help more,” he whispers, but Anne shakes her head.

“That’s not your job. You don’t have to worry; it’s our job to look after the two of you. Because we love you _that_ much.” She reaches up towards the sky, stretching her arm out to include the whole room – plus Cleo’s moon and stars mobile. “More than the sky. More than the whole world.”

She presses another kiss to the top of Will’s messy head. “But thank you.”

Will looks placated, and more than a little tired himself. Still, he cranes his head to look over Anne’s shoulder, and his brows furrow. “Mamma, what’s Daddy doin’?”

Anne turns, and isn’t surprised to see Phillip slumped in the doorway. His head hangs against his chest. He’s asleep standing up.

“I think,” Anne declares, “I’ve gotta get my two best boys back to bed.”

She leaves Cleo with a kiss to her forehead, which makes the baby babble happily. Taking Will by the hand, she leads him to the doorway, where she slings an arm around Phillip’s shoulders.

He grunts as she pulls him away, but quickly slumps against her. He’s pretty much sleep walking until they get to the living room, where she leans him against the doorway once more. He stays there.

“Goodnight, baby,” she says, pressing another kiss to Will’s forehead. “Let’s all get some sleep.”

She pulls the covers up to his chin, ruffles his perpetually messy hair, and leaves him to his rest.

Towing Phillip back to their room is a bit more of a challenge. By the time they reach their bed, they both collapse next to each other. Phillip’s arms are around her in an instant.

“We,” she declares, “have great kids.”

Phillip gives a sleep-drunk humm, and nuzzles his face in her collar. “They geddit from you.”

“Agree to disagree on that one,” she whispers, and runs her hand along his back. Maybe tonight they’ll both be able to get their sorely-needed rest; all they can do is hope.

Knowing that they’re not in this fight alone is all the encouragement either of them need.


	4. to break a fever

Up to the last moment, Cleo tries to pretend that she’s fine.

Anne knows her daughter like the back of her hand; as soon as Cleo starts to look worn out, she knows something’s wrong. Cleo is the type of kid who never stops going until she burns herself out. Usually, her supply of energy is limitless. She runs until her legs can’t hold her, and chatters until she forgets what the words mean. On a bad day, nothing can stop Cleo. On a good day, Cleo can stop the world.

The second her light starts to dim, Anne _knows._

“I’ll have to miss practice tomorrow. Cleo’s not gonna be feeling well, I wanna take care of her.”

Phillip looks up from the sink, where he’s washing his face in preparation for bed. His bafflement is reflected back at Anne in the mirror. “She seemed fine tonight.”

Anne pulls her nightgown over her head and smirks. “I just know these things.”

Sure enough, the next morning Cleo is burning like a radiator. Her hacking cough could put a truck engine to shame, and she can barely breathe enough to whine.

When she slumps into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes and moaning, Anne doesn’t waste a second. She sends her promptly back to bed.

One catastrophe is averted, but that still leaves her with another; thankfully, she’s anticipated this one as well.

“It’s not a big deal,” she sighs, watching Phillip pace around the kitchen, barefoot and unshaven. “Kids get sick. It’s a cold, nothing else.”

“She’s got a _fever,_ Anne.”

“A bad cold, then.” Anne used to get fevers herself whenever she got sick. She still remembers the old remedies her mother used to give her, that worked like a charm every time: basil tea for fevers, peppermint and ginger for sore stomachs, garlic for congestion. She knows exactly how to take care of their baby girl, but things would be a lot easier of she didn’t have to look after her husband as well.

“Cleo’s fine,” she tells him, forcing a cup of coffee into his hands. (The last thing Phillip needs is to be more wired, but morning coffee has always had a mellowing effect on him.) “I’m gonna stay home and take care of her today. There’s nothing to worry about.”

Phillip springs on the idea of staying home. “Perfect. I’ll stay home too.”

Anne barks out something that’s far from a laugh. “Uh, no. You won’t.”

“I will! Annie —“

If Cleo needs help, she’ll have Anne. If she needs someone to feed her, to give her medicine, to cuddle her, then her mother will be right there. What Cleo needs today is a bit of rest and doting. She doesn’t need her fussy father hovering over her, convinced she’s going to start hacking up blood any minute.

(She loves Phillip more than the world, but she still remembers the nightmare that was Will with chicken pox. Phillip had fussed over him for an entire weekend — before inevitably getting sick himself, having _forgotten_ to mention he’d never caught the disease in his own youth.)

So, no. Phillip has the best intentions, but Anne won’t let him hang around the house all day and stress their sick daughter out even more. She won’t let him take care of Cleo until he calms down and realizes that a bug is nothing to panic about.

“You’re not staying home today,” she declares, gathering up her breakfast plate with a clatter. She glances at their oldest child, who’s been surveying the scene in silence since Cleo dragged herself into the room. Will’s dark eyes shine up at her. Anne knows instantly that she’s found an ally. “William, tell your father everything’s fine.”

“Everything’s fine,” Will answers dutifully, and shovels another spoonful of eggs into his mouth.

“It’s not fine, Anne! This isn’t fine! She could get pneumonia, or whooping cough, or break out in rashes —“

“Before we start pulling a thousand worst case diagnoses out of our hat, let’s get one thing straight.” She set the dishes down in the sink before rounding on him, hands on her hips. “Our daughter is not dying. She’s not that sick. But no one in this house is catching whatever she’s got, so that means you —“ She points at Will. “Go off to school, and you —“ Her finger rounds on Phillip. “Go do your job. Everything’s gonna be fine. The world doesn’t stop turning because a little girl gets a cold.”

Phillip stares at her. One look into his eyes, and Anne knows exactly what he’s thinking. Cleo is _their_ little girl. She _is_ their world.

She gives Will a hug and presses a kiss to Phillip’s cheek before sending both her boys off — Will under strict orders to make sure his father actually heads off to work.

Somehow, watching Phillip go is harder than it has any right to be.

* * *

 

Other than that, the Carlyle girls’ sick day passes smoothly. When Anne checks on Cleo after cleaning up breakfast, she finds her sweaty and feverish. After carrying the girl into a cool bath, it seems like her temperature has settled down a bit. Cleo herself is lethargic and miserable, groaning about her aching head and body. It’s impossible not to pity her when she stares up at Anne with those wide blue puppy dog eyes, a perfect replica of her father’s, and scrunches up her brow like she’s close to tears.

They wind up in bed for most of the day. Anne reads and sings to her daughter, while Cleo cuddles her. Anne even manages to cajole Cleo into lunch — chicken broth and water. She has no appetite, but the food still vanishes, and Anne gives her a gentle kiss on the brow for her efforts.

Eventually, they both doze off, with Cleo’s head pillowed on Anne’s breast.

She isn’t sure how long she’s been sleeping when she awakes, but Anne immediately knows they aren’t alone. There is a hand in hers, and a figure sitting at the side of the bed. She recognizes the familiar touch before anything else; she’s recognize the feel of Phillip’s hand even if the world were ending around them.

When she opens her eyes, she finds her husband gazing down at them, his eyes gentle. “Hey,” he greets. Anne smiles blearily.

“Morning,” she says, before glancing out the window and reconsidering. “Evening? What time is it?”

“Around five o’clock.” They’ve been sleeping for two hours, then. Anne frowns, shifting the child next to her, and breathes a sigh of relief when Cleo no longer burns as hot as she once did. Phillip nods. “It seemed like her fever was down. It might be ready to break soon.”

Anne would be very grateful if this was only a twenty-four hour bug. She thinks the entire household would appreciate it, poor Phillip’s nerves especially. “Here’s hoping,” she says, and shifts to sit up. “I should get dinner on pretty soon...”

“No need. Will and I can take care of dinner tonight.” Phillip’s hand tightens around hers. “You’ve certainly done enough today.”

Anne gazes up at him, and feels a rush of affection for her ridiculous, wonderful husband sweet over her. She’s not sure what more she could ask for. Phillip, who fusses like the devil when a family member is sick, is the same man who dotes on her as much as he does their children. She couldn’t ask for anything more.

“Careful,” she warns him. “Any more offers like that, and I just might fall in love with you.”

He chuckles. “About time.”

A stir against her chest breaks the both of them out of the moment. Cleo lifts her head, blinking hazy eyes at both her parents, before exhaling in a huff against Anne’s collar.

“Mamma,” she mutters, and pouts as she buries her face away again. The mess of dark curls atop her head frizz out like she’s a mad scientist. Phillip reaches out and runs his hand over them, winning a satisfied humm from their daughter.

“Hi, Daddy,” she says.

“Hey, Cleo Bear,” he murmurs. “Have you been resting all day long?”

She lets out another humm, barely acknowledgement. Anne can’t help smiling when Phillip leans in to press a kiss to their daughter’s mess of curls.

Tomorrow, she decides, it would be good for her to get back to the show. Trapeze acts won’t do themselves, after all; she can’t leave her brother and their protégée hanging — _literally._ The circus won’t miss her for one day, but she’s not sure about two.

Besides, there’s nothing to worry about; she’s leaving her daughter in good hands. Phillip will certainly welcome with open arms the chance to take a sick day of his own.


	5. should you fall

Fun fact about Phillip Carlyle: he’s always been a little afraid of heights.  
  
When he was a child, he used to watch the birds outside his classroom window. Instead of longing for their wings, they made him shudder. People always said birds were the most free creatures on earth; but who really wanted to be a bird? It was not soaring high above the ground that terrified him, but the uncertainty of it — never knowing where you were headed, where — or if — you would even land. No, Phillip never longed to be a bird. He never wished to fly.  
  
Until he met Anne, and flying ceased to be a dream, instead becoming a sharply present reality.

Anne was the one who taught him what it meant to let go of the things that bound him to the ground. Were it not for Anne, he never would have learned how to fly… and Phillip doesn’t know where he’d be, if his feet never lifted off the ground. (Anne has always been the one who inspires him. For her, he would do more than cling to a rope twenty feet over the earth. For Anne, he would soar.)  
  
That doesn’t mean he loves heights, however. If years of living with the circus and loving Anne haven’t changed that, Phillip doubts anything will. He’s comfortable with the ground firm beneath his feet, thanks very much.  
  
Maybe it was wishful thinking to hope for _one_ child like him.  
  
“Alright!” calls Anne, clapping her hands in front of her. “Are you ready?”  
  
On the other end of the platform, Cleo cheers and bounces up and down. She’s wearing a funny little costume, a green and blue leotard with sequins stretched across its front; her tiny golden tutu flares around her, reminding Phillip of a ballerina more than an acrobat. (Cleo could have been inspired by Caroline, the prima ballerina — she had to follow in her mother’s reckless footsteps.)  At her side, Will, in his red and orange costume, is more subdued. He sends his mother a grin that does little to mask both eagerness and nerves.  
  
Anne grins back. From Phillip’s vantage point on the ground, she casts a proud figure — backlit against the spotlight, she looks slender and willowy, her long curls flowing down her back like a curtain. How many times has he seen this exact same view? How many times has he watched, transfixed, as Anne ascended to her platform after warming up and began to practice?  
  
Today is different only because she isn’t alone; their children are by her side. That makes all the difference in the world.  
  
The platform is solid beneath them, but Phillip’s heart still leaps when Cleo takes a few bouncy steps forward. His little girl — always so bouncy, so full of energy, so _restless_ — is thirty feet up in the air, and Phillip is down below, watching. That is all he can do. He is not an acrobat like Anne; he can not hold his childrens’ hands through this adventure. He is only able to watch, and it terrifies him.  
  
“Mamma, I wanna do a backflip! Can we do those first?”  
  
Will springs forward with a pout. “No way! We have to work with hoops first, Mamma, you said we could!”  
  
Phillip helped tie Cleo’s hair back. He helped Will get into position for stretching out. He spotted his children through the various on-the-ground moves they wanted to learn, from handstands to walkovers. In the air, however, he is left behind. They have dive headfirst into Anne’s world, and all Phillip can do is pray that their lifevests are tight enough.  
  
“Settle down.” Even from so high above, Anne’s voice drifts down as steady and sweet as ever. “We have time for all that. First, you two stretched out, right?”  
  
A chorus of “yes, Mamma” and “mmm-hmm” follow her question. She smiles.  
  
“Tug on your harnesses. Are they tight?”  
  
Will gives his a solid yank. “Tight as they can be!”  
  
Anne checks herself, because she is always the type of mother to put her kids’ safety above everything else — even towering in the air. She tightens Cleo’s, ignoring the little girl’s whine of protest, then cups Will’s cheek. Phillip can see the tenderness of her touch. If she were miles above him, he would still be able to see how much she loves her children.  
  
“Alright,” she announces again. “First day of air practice — let’s begin!”  
  
Cleo swings off the platform first, and Phillip feels his heart soar with her. For a second she seems suspended in midair, frozen, like she’s caught in the flash of a camera; then she drops, and Phillip feels certain he will faint.  
  
Cleo’s hands are still tight around the bar, however. It keeps her up, not allowing her to plummet to the ground. She swings back and forth; a squeal of delight echoes throughout the ring.  
  
“Next,” Anne says, and motions to Will. The boy takes two steps forward, then hesitates; he almost stumbles over his own feet. Will is twelve years old, but still timid, and as gangly as his height demands. He does not fit the image of an acrobat; even in his personalized uniform, he looks like he doesn’t quite fit his own skin. (Looking at his son sometimes reminds Phillip to be glad his own teenage years are long behind him.) Will takes a breath, then shakes his head.  
  
Anne says nothing. She just lays a hand on Will’s shoulder, and kneads in just enough to force the breath from her son’s lungs in a sigh. A bit of the tension eases out of Will’s body. He looks up at her, and she offers him a soft, crooked smile.  
  
Phillip can not hear what she whispers, or see the motion of her lips. He only sees Will steal himself, grip his mother’s hand for a second before shrugging it off, and then leap.  
  
He almost doesn’t catch the bar. His fingers graze across it, and he starts to slip. At the last moment, though, he catches himself, and hauls himself up with all the strength in his lean-muscled body.  
  
While his sister is still dangling, Will manages to hoist himself to sit on top of the bar. He offers his father a wave from high above.  
  
“Look at me, Dad!” he calls. “I’m taller than you!”  
  
Phillip can’t help the laugh that bursts from his chest. He still feels a little like he’s going to faint, so it’s probably anxiety more than anything else, but Will beams anyways.  
  
He finally decides to take a seat; the rest of the lesson is a bit less nervewracking from the comfort of the bleachers. He watches Anne run through a bunch of novice moves with her two charges: swinging back and forth, pulling yourself up, even learning to hang upside down in the midair. The childrens’ harnesses never give way. Even when Cleo slips, and winds up hanging upside down with no bar within reach, Anne just turns it into a lesson on what _not_ to do.  
  
By the time the kids are back on the solid walkway, it’s become obvious who the gifted acrobats in the family are. Cleo’s got enthusiasm for days, but it’s Will who takes to the sky with all the ease of his mother.  
  
They both come down grinning, but Will is positively radiant.  
  
“Did you see me, Dad? Did you? It was so fun!”  
  
“I saw you,” Phillip says, and messes up Will’s headful of curls. “You were great, kiddo!”  
  
Will, still beaming, rushes off the change; Cleo announces her intention to locate Aunt Lettie somewhere on the campgrounds, and runs off after him. Anne is wiping down her hands, a smile on her face, when Phillip comes up behind him.  
  
“I think they take after you,” he remarks, looping his arms around her waist. “In all the best ways, but also the ways most likely to give me a heart attack.”  
  
“You’ll live,” Anne smiles, and spins around to peck his cheek. Her eyes are dark and shining. “You know, there’s no age limit on the lessons, if you wanted to join us…”  
  
Phillip lets out a chuckle. The offer is nice, of course… but it’s been outstanding for a while now. Phillip will always be more comfortable on the ground; and, unless he ever has to pursue Anne Carlyle into the stars again, is happy staying hat way.  
  
“I’m alright,” he says. “Thank you.”  
  
Not until they’re getting ready to round up the children again does he think to ask; it’s the one thing he wasn’t able to hear, and it’s gnawed at his curiosity ever since. “What did you tell Will, when he got nervous up there?”  
  
Anne glances at him from the corner of her eye; a smile tugs at her lips. “I told him,” she says, “that no matter how far he fell, we’d always be there to catch him.”  


**Author's Note:**

> how did baby supplies work in the 1800s? let’s wing it, chickadees
> 
> If you want to prompt something for this series, leave a comment below, or message me on Tumblr at [abroholoselephanta](http://abroholoselephanta.tumblr.com/)!


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